Trouble Maker
by Crack.Alchemist
Summary: The heir to the Hijirikawa Syndicate is bored. This is a dangerous thing.
1. Chapter 1

] o [ ] o [ ] o [

 **Trouble Maker**

 **Chapter One**

 **Rating: M/E**

Hijirikawa straddled the chair, his back to the young man with the buzzing tattoo gun. Giving his back to any human was a rare and dangerous thing, something that Kurusu treated with a great deal of respect. Moving the sucker from one side of his mouth to the other, he opened his portable kit and laid everything out carefully even as he considered the canvas in front of him.

It was his task to handle the younger members of the Hijirikawa Syndicate, from the Heir on down. The craggy, wrinkled man who handled the elders didn't have the patience for the unorthodox things asked of him by the younger lot. So he'd covered almost all of them, and now the Heir Himself was seated in front of him, waiting for his second mark. Syo's master gave the blue crown on the inside of his wrist to him.

His client – his _friend_ – requested something unlike the others in the Syndicate he'd covered in bright, decadent color. Syo hadn't expected anything less; the Hijirikawa heir wasn't like his other clients.

He rolled the lollipop in his mouth from one side to the other again before she spoke. "You sure your father sanctioned this?" he asked, leaning over the other man's shoulder. "I ain't in the mood to be sucking on a gun barrel any time soon."

Masato snorted lightly. "Would have thought you'd be used to such bitter things by now, _Hiji-hori_."

"Oi, fuck you," Syo grunted, ignoring the fact that Masato teased him by using his tattoo name, as he slid the design out of the manila envelope and placed it gently on the spot on Masato's back that was agreed upon. "Don't knock it until you try it." He used surgical tape to hold the template in place, at least until he could transfer the design to the skin.

He pushed the fedora back off his forehead while he considered the light marker drawing he'd made of the outline. Normally, he did things free hand, but there was no way that he would even risk messing this thing up. He checked his gun, made sure the needle was in place, that the ink pumped freely through the feather-light tubes.

His master, some random Hijirikawa cousin or another, always gave him the upturned lip whenever he pulled his gun out of autoclave, muttering " _yobori_ " as if Syo were committing a filthy crime. Syo ignored him; what he did was still _irezumi._ No matter what anyone said, Syo stuck to his guns about that.

Masato turned his head slowly and gave his friend a greasy eyeball. "I may have to take you up on your offer someday," he whispered.

He was only half-joking.

"Any time you're ready." Syo gave him a crooked smile, only half-joking himself. He would have paid a small fortune to pop this guy's cherry for him, but he wasn't going to tell him that.

Not that he needed to say a word. "You know you're third on my list." Masato laughed before turning back and resting his chin on his arms. "Let's get this thing started."

Syo stared at his friend for a nanosecond, and then gave into his own laughter. The bastard. _Third, my ass_. He reached forward and put himself within striking distance of the pale expanse of back presented to him. He wondered if Masato could feel his breath against his skin as he got to work.

]o[

It usually started with being slammed up against a wall in a dark corner of the building. This he didn't mind; the kinetic forcethat followed always sent lashes of hot fire down his spine.

It ended with a heavy, panting promise of another time. For this, he pretended he could care less. The key word here was _pretend._ In the middle of it, all was paradise.

Ha. Kurusu thought he was a complete virgin.

He didn't mind so much being man handled by the taller one, but he sometimes wanted to work his own frustrations out, and sometimes Kira let him. They both understood. Kira had his own demon. He'd told Masato once about the burning urge to toss the younger of the Otori brothers on his bed and fuck him blind. Masa could sympathize. He had Haruka floating around him all the time, smelling like freshly cut flowers and being so gentle. He confessed in whispers to Kira about his wish to dominate the girl utterly and claim her. Kira chuckled at that and told him that he could practice on him.

Today, though, it was Kira's turn to dominate. The older man knew better than to leave marks above the collar, but that didn't stop him from lapping at the skin right under his collarbone, didn't stop him from sucking the sweat from his abdomen, from outright bruising his hips with a strong, steel grip.

Masato wrapped his legs around Kira's slim waist, allowing himself to surrender this one time to the passion burning under the surface of his skin. He hissed when Kira gathered the hem of his shirt and pushing it up past his nipples, and tried so hard not to whine when Sumeragi latched on to the left one – his favorite – leaving what Masato could only imagine to be the most vivid mark he'd gotten to date.

"What's taking you so long, Sumeragi?" he muttered into his lover's shoulder, spitting out the challenge he knew would spark Kira's contrary streak.

"I'll get to it when I get to it, Hijirikawa," Kira snarled. "Shut up and hold still."

"I don't have all day," Masato spat back.

"Then keep your mouth shut and _hold still, damn you._ " Kira pulled at Masato's belt, tugging it from the loops and tossing it to the ground. "Don't make me repeat myself."

The warning, given, was acknowledged.

"Can I take it?" Kira muttered into the skin on Masato's neck, asking the time-honored question to which he knew the answer. He asked it anyway, every time.

"No."

"Damn you."

" _No._ "

"Fine."

"Who in the hell are you saving it for, Hiji?"

"None of your damned business." Masato tightened his thigh muscles, locking Kira in a stainless steel grip. "Get moving."

"Son of a bitch."

"No, that's _your_ mother. Mine is a _goddess_."

Kira grunted and ground his erection against Masato's, cutting off all wordplay. "Must run in the family," he said in a final verbal salvo before grinding in earnest.

Masato's mouth fell open on a low groan as he felt the other's hardness through the cloth that separated them. _Fuck, he wanted to be filled up._ In the dark recesses of his mind, he allowed himself all of the vulgar language he refused to speak aloud. He moved his hands, confident that Kira would be able to hold him up while he took care of necessities. It took him seconds to un-button and un-zip Kira's pants and shove them open. It took nanoseconds for him to wrap a hand around Kira's cock and squeeze, knowing exactly what torture he inflicted.

Kira bit down, keeping his teeth from bruising Masa's skin by pure willpower alone. Masato chuckled even ask he gasped at the threat of passionate violence. "Mark me and you're a dead man."

Kira, ever economical with his words, held his peace. Instead, he returned the favor, undid Masato's trousers, and took over, holding both of them in his large, warm, strong hand.

Masato wanted to sing. This was his favorite part, this nasty friction, this unbelievably _nasty, vulgar_ friction. Kira was a master of it; his hand played them as if they were matching precious musical instruments. Their voices, trapped under a veil of secrecy, held onto one undercurrent note that harmonized as quietly as possible until it was no longer possible and first Masato then Kira exploded, gasping through their twinned orgasms, each feeling the other's heartbeat fluttering under the palms of their hands.

When they landed softly back to earth, Kira murmured something quietly into the crook of Masato's neck once again. "Who're you saving it for?"

"Never you mind," Masato whispered back. "You know you're second on my list."

]o[

The phone rang incessantly. Masato glared at it, hating the necessity of having to be accessible at all times. Though he was his father's successor, it still was deemed important for him to learn the inner workings of his family business. Therefore, he sat trapped in a stuffy office, bean counting and paper shuffling. If the Hijirikawa family name was affiliated to this organization, Masaomi decided, then each member would have a full working knowledge of every aspect, from the mail boy to the _Obayun._ Masato grimaced, staring at the spreadsheet on the screen in front of him. That extensive, complicated, _boring_ education started with him, _Kobun-sama._

The door opened and a tall blond entered. Masato looked up at one of his father's best field officers. Some of his mental guards immediately flew up, as they always did. _Damnit, why couldn't he just take these men with a grain of salt?_

Kamyu was one of the most loyal of the syndicate. His father went to this man first when it was time to send someone young out to take care of international prospects.

"Hijirikawa," the older man said, his deep voice rumbling, yet devoid of most emotion. _This_ was why many didn't trust Cryzard; the man was utterly unreadable. No one ever knew if the man was 'on duty' or just irritated with the world. Masato liked that about him and occasionally tried to emulate the trait.

"Where are you headed today?" Masato asked

"Sydney," Kamyu answered simply. "There is a youngster from a collateral family that requires our help; order came down to go, investigate and bring him back if he is acceptable." The man handed over the case file, which contained the appropriate paperwork for him to receive funds for the trip.

Masato looked over the intricate handwriting of the financial officer in charge of the younger half of the Hijirikawa syndicate. His father was a smart man. He knew where the loyalties would lie when he handed the business over to his son, so he made sure that there were competent – though young – people placed in important roles throughout the business. There was a beautiful symmetry in Ryugazaki's writing that did not distract from the information therein.

"So, is he foreign born?" He looked up at Kamyu.

The older man shook his head. "No, he was born here. He went to Sydney to swim professionally."

"Ah, yes, I see here." Masato looked at the enclosed picture, winced at the artificially pointed teeth. _It took all kinds._ He sighed then reached into the bottom drawer of his desk for the portable safe tucked inside. "Black or platinum?" He always asked the field officer even though he knew what was on the paper. It was his way to testing them for integrity. He knew that it could make him look stupid on the face of things, but it was his own eccentricity. They would have to get used to it if they couldn't figure it out.

Had Kamyu figured it out? "Platinum," he said easily without a change of expression.

Masato gave him a bland look, waiting.

A smile cracked the smooth veneer of Kamyu's face. "Black of course," he said finally.

Masato gave in as well and smiled. "Father would never let you travel any other way." He pulled one of the organization's twelve Centurion cards from its holder, and then reached into the safe again, this time for one of the passports lying inside. He quickly looked to make sure he had the right one, and then slid them both across the desk.

"It pays to be good at what you do."

"Happy travels."

Kamyu gave him a smart bow.

"Wish I were going with you." The words were out of his mouth before he realized it.

Kamyu halted just before touching the doorknob and turned. "And is there a reason you cannot?"

Masato blinked and stared at the older man. _Was there any pressing reason he could not?_ His father wanted him to become familiar with all parts of the business. Who would be better – and safer – to teach him about acquisition than Cryzard? "When are you leaving?"

The blond shrugged elegantly. "I can go in the morning if you need to make preparations," he offered.

"How about later tomorrow afternoon?" Masato offered. "I have to close the books for the month."

"Perfect." Another bow and Cryzard left.

His father may complain, but would refuse him nothing. Soon, he would be away. Anywhere but this luxurious, but boring little office, staring at this impressive, yet ineffectual spreadsheet.

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	2. Chapter 2

] o [ ] o [ ] o [

 **Trouble Maker**

 **Chapter Two**

 **Rating: M/E**

After telling his father of his intentions, Masaomi made only one pronouncement. That Masato had to take two of his muscle with him or he couldn't go. Masato held his sigh behind his teeth and made a quick mental decision; he would take Otoya and Nanami. The two looked about as unassuming as one could get. Otoya gave the impression that he was only one-quarter present at any given time and Nanami… Nanami. Her habit of getting lost went a long way, as well as her delicate and frail appearance. However, those who knew were well aware that the couple was a lethal combination. They were two halves of one whole, frightening killing machine. That was the reason they were his go-to muscle for this trip.

After receiving his own copy of the file from his father's own hand, he realized that his cousin and her boyfriend were the ones to bring. The young man in question was skittish, didn't appreciate being courted by some of the largest syndicates in the country of his birth. Moreover, there were two after him. Masaomi had decided on a gentle wooing of the young man, while the other was in the business of snatching prospects from the street and convincing them at the business end of a pistol.

What was not listed in the file was the _reason_ the Hijirikawa syndicate and the other wanted him so urgently. When asked, Masato's father told him that he would see once he met the boy. Masato snorted inelegantly. _Boy._ The _boy_ was his age.

His morning was relatively peaceful. Breakfast alone; some time working on his calligraphy (a vanity he refused to give up despite his responsibilities), some quiet planning time in his grandfather's garden. Then it was back to his suite, instructing Jii of what to pack and assuring his personal assistant that, no, he was not needed for the trip.

He tried to seek out Otoya and Haruka, but they were nowhere to be found. One of the housekeepers told him that the couple had left early and would be back late in the afternoon. He instructed the woman to ensure that two had luggage prepared for an extended overseas trip; they would understand the presumption. A couple of targeted text messages received only the most cursory replies. Satisfied that the couple was still in once piece, he went to his office for a regular day of work.

]o[

One more hour, and he was finished playing little worker bee for the day. Masato leaned back in his chair, propped his boots on the edge of the desk and decided he was going to spend the last hour playing a music game on his phone. Before he could get one bar into his current favorite song, however, two tiny raps on the door interrupted him.

It opened to admit his cousin and her boyfriend. Masato brought himself upright and gave them a small smile, grateful for the convenience. He was glad he wouldn't have to chase them down, but he wondered what brought them into the office at this time of day.

Haruka answered that question quickly enough. She plopped herself into one of the chairs in front of his desk with a smile that encompassed her whole face. That smile never failed to raise his mood, and it did so yet again as he felt his own grin growing in response. Curiously, though, Otoya stopped behind her chair and stood both hands on the back, a studiously calm look on his usually animated face.

Masato watched as Haruka reached into her impossibly small purse and pull out a piece of plastic, which she promptly pushed across the desk at him. It had to be the only thing in that damned tiny purse, and as he recognized what he was, his whole body froze, along with the smile on his face.

He gingerly picked up the pink and white stick and gave it a cursory glance. It was obvious what it was, and he didn't need the little, inky plus sign peeking through the tiny window near the middle to tell him why she'd bought it to him.

Whatever Masato decided when it came to his companions was law, and not even his father contradicted him. If his decision caused issues, it was his lot to accept responsibility for them. It was training, pure and simple, for when he took over the entire Syndicate. Older, more seasoned soldiers were jealous for a short time, and then they realized that there was a method to Masaomi's madness. Instead of a clutch of crazy teenagers to track, Masaomi only had to look to his son.

Masato let out an explosive sigh and leaned back in his chair, still holding the pregnancy test. He stared at it for an eternity, thinking that his father would have had Ittoki hanging off the side of the building by his balls within the half-hour had he seen this thing. Masato was tempted to do just that for a small moment, but he sighed again, understanding the dynamic between the quiet, demure Haruka and her wild-assed boyfriend – who also happened to be his right hand.

He squinted at them, and then put the test down. Still silent, he opened the top center drawer and withdrew a business card file. Flipping methodically through it, he pulled two cards from it and returned it to his desk. Then he went to the drawer and pulled out the mini-safe again. This time, it was a black leather zipper pouch that he pulled out, and laid it on the desk beside one of the two cards. Next was another Centurion credit card, which he laid on top of the other business card.

Last of all, he reached around into his jacket and pulled out the final tool for this little discussion he intended to facilitate. Colored a solid matte black, the pistol was a refined instrument that fit well within his fine-boned, almost delicate hand. It made a satisfying 'thunk' sound as he placed it on the desk behind the other items, rested his elbows on either side of it and rested his chin on his bent fingers.

"What is your plan?" he asked his cousin, continuing to ignore the fidgeting redhead behind her.

Haruka blinked and looked over her shoulder at her boyfriend, patting his hand. "Looks like I've got a few options," she said. "Oh, Masa-kun, you know what I want to do! Do you _have_ to scare Ittoki like this?"

Masato gave her a crooked smile. "I just want to impress upon _Ittoki_ the importance and seriousness of the situation," he replied. He pierced the other boy with a long look that promised dire things if he mistreated his cousin, and then shook his head. He pulled the zip pouch and card off the desk and put them back where they belonged. "Do you want to call the doctor yourself, or do you want someone to take care of it for you?"

Haruka let out a tightly held breath, obviously relieved that her sweetheart would live to see another day. "I can call."

"Then here," he handed her the business and credit card. "Doctor Koyashi is known for his discretion and that will ensure that everything is paid for up front." He rolled his eyes at Ittoki. "I should make _you_ pay for it, but I've got other plans for you, and I know you don't have two yen to rub together."

"Hey, I've saved!" Ittoki finally spoke, giving the elder boy a half grin. He scratched at the back of his head, moving from foot to foot. "I have plenty to take care of business." He gave Haruka a loving glance. "I would never leave her hanging."

"Good." Masato left his side of the desk, walking with his usual distinct calm toward his cousin. It didn't take long, but before either could blink, he had Ittoki by his throat, slammed against the closest wall. He could feel the muscles in his friend's neck convulse as he tightened just enough to make the other boy nervous. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply to make a man twitch, to make a man piss his pants, and to stop his heart in his chest. He didn't have the strength in his hands to do the last, but it was of no matter; he didn't intend to kill the father of his cousin's child.

"If you can 'take care of business', did you not have enough pocket change to purchase a condom or two?" he asked his friend, his face utterly passive.

Otoya was turning pink under his grasp, but to his credit, he didn't even twitch a hair. "Uh… it broke?" he offered lamely.

Haruka was looking at the two of them, wondering whom to comfort first. "Um..."

"Then stop buying shoddy goods," Masato answered with a chuckle and let him go. "I don't have to tell you to take good care of Haruka, do I?"

"Of course not!" Otoya said after straightening his shirt and gathering a bit more air into his lungs than was necessary. "I love her. I'd never harm a hair on her head."

"Then I guess I'm about to become a second cousin." He smile genuinely now. "Congratulations." He leaned against the front of his desk. "I would keep this quiet until I come back from Sydney, though. I have to make sure that I can keep Father from having someone flay Ittoki from head to foot."

"You're going to Sydney?" Haruka asked. "Why?"

"Yeah and why can't I come?" Ittoki asked.

Masato looked at Haruka for the first part of his answer, "Actually, I was going to bring the two of you, but it seems that is out of the question l for a least one of you." He gave a pointed look a Haruka. "Kamyu is bringing in a new recruit, and I'm going for the experience." Then he looked at Ittoki. "You're coming. Your price for being irresponsible. It will also keep you safe when my father discovers what's happened."

Otoya looked at Haruka. "Will you be okay if I go?" he asked. Masato held back a smirk, knowing it was his friend's backwards way of asking for permission.

"Of course I will. Someone needs to keep an eye on Masa-chan," Haruka teased.

Masato growled at her. He _hated_ it when someone called him _Masa-chan._ "I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Nanami."

The girl stood and smoothed her skirt down. "Well, then, keep an eye on Ittoki-kun, then. I don't feel like having to deal with him shooting himself in the foot again."

"Hey!"

"Ah, yes," Masato said, "I'll make sure I bring enough money to pay any hospital bills."

"Quit it!"

As they left, Masato considered his quandary. His father was adamant that he bring two others with him. As distant as father and son were, Masato knew that his father valued his safety above all else. Only son; only technical heir and all that.

Whom would he bring? Kurusu was not ready for a long distance trip yet. That left him with few choices.

There was another perfunctory knock on his door and it opened almost immediately. He was about to protest the rudeness when he saw the solution to his problem.

The young man adjusted his glasses and moved up to the desk, clutching a tablet and a file. The real books and those that were cook to a crisp, golden brown.

"Ryugazaki," Masato said, relaxing back in his chair, "You've come at a perfect time." He leaned forward, taking both tablet and file. "I have a proposition for you."


End file.
